


Game Over: Start Again?

by laireshi, runningondreams



Category: Avengers (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: AI Tony Stark, Angst, Canon Temporary Character Death, Civil War (Marvel), Extremis Tony Stark, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Hydra Steve Rogers, Last Kiss, Lots of consensual kissing, M/M, Memory Alteration, Non-Consensual Kissing, Real Steve Rogers, hickmanvengers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-09-30 00:19:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17213579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laireshi/pseuds/laireshi, https://archiveofourown.org/users/runningondreams/pseuds/runningondreams
Summary: A first kiss is a beginning. A last kiss is an end. Steve and Tony have shared a few of both.





	Game Over: Start Again?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cap iron man community](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=cap+iron+man+community).



> For the Cap-Iron Man Holiday Exchange community gifts prompt: “first kiss, last kiss.” Also, inadvertently: "Tony doesn't remember Steve kissing him during the first Civil War. Steve doesn't know Tony kissed _him_ during the second Civil War."
> 
> * * *

_Level One_

The first time they kiss it’s a soaring, swooping thing, all giddy excitement and pent-up longing set loose. 

Tony thinks he can feel their history stretching out behind them, every memory examined anew for datapoints that lead up to this moment right here, to Tony trying to take in the press of Steve’s lips against his and the temperature of his breath, the slide of Steve’s hands in his hair and the quickening of his heartbeat against his ribs. 

Extremis makes every inch of skin feel new, every touch more intense than the one before, makes details he’d never even considered a whole experience of their own. The brush of Steve’s stubble against his chin comes in units he can measure like sandpaper; the catch in his own breath arrives with muscle elasticity and CO2 composition readings attached. He can feel each silken tickle of Steve’s arm hair against his neck, and map the exact spread of Steve’s palm against the back of his skull, and the warmth of Steve’s body is more than a physical sensation, it’s an emission of electromagnetic radiation that interacts with Tony’s own and changes as they press closer and closer. 

Steve’s tongue over his lips is a revelation so intense Tony finds himself clinging to Steve’s shoulders (cotton under his fingertips, freshly laundered, the seams 45% worn) and breathing in short, quick breaths that send warning messages streaking behind his eyes, and he dismisses them all, one after another, and makes a note to adjust the code’s sensitivity levels because now that he has this he’s not letting go. 

He’s going to kiss Steve a lot and do a lot more than kiss, and every second of it is going to be newer than new and better than he ever thought it could be. 

Steve pulls back just slightly, a smile curving over wet and swollen lips, and Tony leans in to kiss him again, presses as close as he can and loses himself in the pure neural rush of _Steve Steve Steve Steve Steve_.

***

Steve’s fist connecting with Tony’s face feels like catharsis: finally, the answer to his sins. Here they are, in the most important of places to both of them; the ruins of the mansion where they first became friends now stands as a witness while their relationship fractures into jagged pieces with unfitting edges.

Extremis is feeding him data: his pulse, the temperature of the room, the projected bruises on his skin, the way Steve pulls his punches compared to his usual Captain America strength.

Tony shuts it all off.

He strikes back, he dodges, he kicks Steve, and Steve grunts with the impact, his eyes on Tony, his jaw set.

Tony wonders if Steve regrets teaching him to fight.

He doesn’t wonder if Steve regrets kissing him; that, he knows.

He blocks Steve’s punch, but it sets him off-balance. Steve uses it and flips him over his shoulder, to the ground, goes after him, his forearm pressing at Tony’s throat and his right fist ready to hit.

It’s okay. It’s what Tony deserves for his betrayal, for collaborating with the SHRA despite the dangers if he didn’t, for believing he could save them without destroying them. If this is the cost of saving all their lives, Steve’s and Carol’s and Luke’s and Peter’s and everyone else on that list, Tony will gladly pay it. It’ll be worth it in the end.

Steve backs away.

They look at each other. Tony sees his regret mirrored in Steve’s face. He picks himself up, slowly, his body aching. He tastes blood in his mouth and realises his upper lip is cut. He feels at his cheek with his palm. His skin isn’t broken, but the bruises will be ugly.

Faster than Tony can react, Steve closes in again, but instead of throwing another punch, he just cups Tony’s other cheek. Gentle. Tender. The way they haven’t been for days.

It might be the last time.

It _is_ the last time, Tony corrects himself. There’s no place for hope here.

Their lips meet and it’s nothing like the kisses they used to share. It feels like an apology and a goodbye. Steve’s lips are dry; Tony’s own are wet with blood. Right now would be where Tony pulls Steve closer and Steve pries his lips open with his tongue. Instead, they separate.

“Tony,” Steve breathes in the space between them; corrects himself, “Iron Man.”

They don’t need more words than that.

***

Steve dies. Tony forgets. In a way, maybe, they get to start over.

***

_Once upon a time . . ._

Their first kiss is warm and slow and gentle, an anchor in a world gone mad with elves and goblins and magic. 

Steve helps Tony down from their horse and Tony flutters his eyelashes and grins like he doesn’t remember he’s naked. He says, “ _My hero_ ,” like he’s some princess Steve’s just rescued from a dragon. With provocation like that Steve doesn’t bother to resist the impulse—he raises Tony’s hand to his lips and kisses his knuckles, deliberate and gallant as he can manage, and things . . . change.

Tony licks his lips, and when he speaks again it’s Steve’s name on a whisper and his eyes are as wide and dark as wishing wells. Steve squeezes his fingers and leans in until their noses brush. He tilts his head until he can feel Tony’s breath on his face and then he kisses him, lips to lips and heart to heart. 

Like the warmth of the hearth and the glow of a candle in the window: It feels like coming home.

***

They’re high up in the mountains, the cold wind sharp and unforgiving. The other Earth is huge and menacing over them, and the sky is red, making the snow look more like frozen blood. It’s a fitting place to face the end of the world.

The Time Gem is warm in Steve’s hand, vibrating with power, impatient to be used like it can feel Steve’s intent. He closes his fist tight around it. _Not yet_.

“Steve?” Tony sounds worried even through the armour filters.

Steve shakes his head to indicate it’s okay. He taps at Tony’s helmet, wordlessly, and Tony obediently raises his faceplate.

Tony’s taller than him in the armour. Steve has to lean up to kiss him, but it’s far from the first time he’s dones it. Tony’s lips are warm; Steve’s sure his own must feel freezing in comparison.

“For luck?” Tony asks, amused, sneaking one arm around Steve.

“In case I fail,” Steve answers, quietly enough that he hopes the other Illuminati can’t hear him. Still, Tony’s more important than what they might think of Steve right now, and Steve can’t just put on the Infinity Gauntlet without this.

“You won’t fail,” Tony answers equally quietly. His faith in Steve would be humbling if it weren’t so nerve-racking.

 _I love you_ , Steve thinks, and instead of saying it he tries to show it in another kiss, open-mouthed and heavy. If it’s the last kiss they ever share, he wants it to be good. Tony melts into him a little, a gasp escaping his mouth, and Steve smiles, satisfied, and moves away.

 _Time to save the world_ , he thinks, but as the Infinity Gauntlet materialises around his hand, it’s s _ave Tony_ that runs through his head.

***

They live. They save the world.

And Steve forgets. 

Fifteen hours after Strange wipes his mind, he kisses Tony’s temple. It's a small thing, hardly a kiss as much as a brush of lips against his skin, but it makes Tony go still and cold. He moves away, and he says his piece—he can't do this, not right now, it's just not working—and he watches Steve's face because he owes him that much, and more. But there are some lies he's not willing to live in any universe.

***

_Set the record back:_

When Ulysses can foresee a _possible_ future but not the certain one, when Carol wants to arrest people for crimes they _might_ commit, Tony sees only one way out. He’s tired, so tired of fighting his friends, but there’s one man he trusts.

“I’m going to listen to Steve Rogers,” he says, and then Steve nods and tells Tony he’s not crazy, he’s right, that _Steve’s on his side now_.

Tony could sob with the relief washing over him.

When everyone else leaves the meeting, Steve stays. He’s watching Tony like he’s planning something, a curious expression on his face, his gaze never wavering.

“Do I have something on my face?” Tony asks, trying to laugh it off. He’s been on the receiving end of this level of intensity from Steve before, but . . . Well. _Before_.

“You look beautiful,” Steve says, which Tony knows isn’t true, because he hasn’t slept in two days and he’s exhausted and stressed out, but Steve _does_ sound like he believes it, like even Tony completely at the edge can look good to him, and Tony doesn’t know what to do with that information.

He’s broken what used to be between them.

But then Steve approaches him in two long strides, and before Tony can realise what’s happening, Steve holds his face in his hands and kisses him, holds him still and licks into his mouth and claims him, drawn out and possessive.

“I . . .” Tony can’t find words when they separate.

“Didn’t you like it?” Steve asks, raising an eyebrow.

“I did!”

“I want to try anew,” Steve says, and there’s something in his voice and the way he holds Tony, something completely certain of who he is and what he wants that makes the protests die in Tony’s throat.

It’s not like he _doesn’t_ want it. He wants it more than anything.

“So that was our first kiss, then?” he asks like their history isn’t hanging heavy over them.

Steve smiles like he’s got a secret and pulls Tony in again.

***

Encased in the high-tech, pod-like a coffin, Tony looks merely asleep. His skin is a healthy shade, not the ashen tint of death or illness; his expression is smooth, so different to the constant frown of worry he’s worn the last few weeks. He looks like he could wake up any moment now, like he wasn’t injured beyond anyone’s understanding just days ago.

Steve’s angry. How dare Tony do this? How dare he just check out of the game when Steve hasn’t made his move yet?

“He loved you,” he says, shaking his head. “He loved you and he admired you.”

It made _him_ weak. _He_ couldn’t fight Tony. Steve isn’t handicapped like that. He’d _waited_ to fight Tony. He’d planned for it.

And now Tony’s taking that away from him.

“Please, I’m begging you, _wake up_ ,” Steve says. “Try and stop me.”

Maybe Tony can hear him. Maybe the heroic Iron Man will rise. Isn’t making comebacks what he does?

 _Failing is what he does_ , Steve thinks, vicious. But it should be at Steve’s hand. Steve should be the one to defeat him and bring him down, to show him the futility of his actions.

How can Captain America win if Iron Man is not there to oppose him?

Tony’s taken his victory.

Steve can have one last prize. He taps at the layer of glass protecting Tony from the outside. It recedes into the walls of the pod. He touches Tony’s face: warm and dry. Steve kisses him, hard, bites on his lip, waits for him to gasp and try to escape . . .

There’s nothing.

It’s like he hasn’t even felt their last kiss.

Steve tells himself he doesn’t care.

***

Steve isn’t Steve, somehow, and even when he’s made of light and memories, Tony isn’t who he thought he maybe could be. He tries to save Steve in a million different ways. He fails.

And then, miraculously, Steve comes back. Second chances on top of second chances, stacking like dominoes. Maybe this time, they can get it right.

***

 _Three, two, one: go_.

Steve doesn’t plan for it. Like most things concerning Tony in his life, this too is an impulse, a sudden idea impossible to ignore, because it’s _Tony_ , and Steve’s always loved him just a bit too much.

“Hey,” he says, and Tony turns to him. He’s wearing his full armour because the workshop requires interaction with the physical environment too. “Mind putting the helmet on?”

Tony raises one perfect, digital eyebrow, his holographic expression curious. He might be an AI, but there’s no doubt in Steve’s mind that he’s really Tony. It’s in the way he speaks and acts and in the way he feels; so very obvious when they talk long into the night.

The armor’s a new one, not a scratch on it. Steve leans in, slowly, pressing his lips to the faceplate where Tony mouth would be. The metal is cold and smooth, not unpleasant.

He moves away, but he keeps his arm on Iron Man’s waist.

“I can feel it,” Tony says, opening the helmet. He seems dazed. “The armour is covered in sensors, and . . .”

“I hoped you would,” Steve tells him. A very special first kiss. He’s sure some would say it doesn’t count.

But at the moment, there’s nothing that counts more _to him_.

***

When it’s time for Tony to—to wake up, or whatever it is he’s doing, Steve’s not really sure he understands it all, but when it’s time, Steve goes with him. Tony wears the armor and Steve holds his hand as they stand next to the pod, grips it tighter than he ever could when Tony was made of bones and flesh, but Tony doesn’t complain. He’s quiet, and still. So quiet and still that Steve wonders for a moment if something went wrong.

“Will you be here?” Tony asks, sudden in the silence. “When I—when I come back, will you meet me?”

“Of course,” Steve tells him. “I promise.”

“Okay.” Tony nods. Nods again, as if to himself. “Okay. Well. Here goes.”

“Wait.” Steve turns. Puts his hands to the helmet. Presses a kiss to the faceplate, slow and lingering. “For luck,” he says, and it echoes through his bones.

“For luck,” Tony agrees. And then he stiffens; the armor jerks slightly. Piece by piece, it clatters to the floor.

Steve waits.

One minute. Two.

Three.

The pod blinks green. The glass pulls back, and Tony breathes. 

This time, when Steve kisses him, he kisses back.


End file.
